Alliance
By The Shadower
Spoilers: Reunion, eventually, I think, if I have the name right. I'm not sure of any episode names because I only got interested in the show when it was cancelled with the reruns on Court TV.
Rating: PG-13 for later chapters, Violence, maybe some gore, language. Later chapters may use F-word.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. There. I said it. Now ask yourself, was that really necessary?
Feedback: If I don't get reviewed, I will either A: Never continue or post another chapter or B: Do everything you hate, kill off all the characters not already dead, ECT. Good and bad feedback appreciated, if you hate something about it, please review and let me know.
AN: This is my first Profiler fic. It's AU starting the AU at the end of the episode I think is reunion, the last episode with Sam. I know there are some things at the beginning you may not like, but please hang in there. Also, thanks to Stephen King for the thought format. I borrowed that particular formatting trick from IT, and I think it works well here. Also, I'm going camping over the weekend so I won't have a chance to update until Monday. Finally, due to creative license, part of this is in the present tense while the rest is in the past. It means, nothing, its just creative license.
Dedicated to Stephen King for the aforementioned format, and to Thomas Harris, for an inspiration obvious to anyone familiar with **The Silence of the Lambs**.
2007
Special Agent Bailey Malone of the CIA felt an odd chill as he stepped into the VCTF headquarters. It felt almost... familiar.
He shook off the feeling and walked down the hall to the computer database. He had been a CIA agent, leader of a special ops team for as long as he could remember. According to his superior, he had been recruited off a police force in Maine, where he'd been a small town patrolman. Now, in the CIA, he was hunting career criminals and pattern killers, as well as undertaking some of the less lawful assignments.
He felt another chill as he stepped into the computer database. He mentally pinched himself. He had never been here before. The computer technician turned to face him.
(Where's George?)
What was that? He didn't know anyone named George. The ID badge on the technician read SAMUEL WANDMAN. Wandman glanced up at him impatiently.
"What do you want?"
The voice was annoyed, as if Wandman couldn't imagine anything the slightly ruffled suit before him could have that was important enough to take valuable time better used playing computer games.
"I need an address," Bailey said, not letting his anger at the technician's casual manner reach his voice.
"I need the address of that woman killed out in the country. The one that might be the latest victim of White Ripper."
The technician pressed a computer key and a name and address popped up on the screen. Bailey looked at the name- and froze.
He felt the same chill of familiarity, mixed with a grief he couldn't explain. Somehow, he felt, he'd known this woman. Some thing in her name
(Blonde hair)
struck him as familiar.
"Samantha Waters."
He stared at the screen, groping desperately at a memory somewhere within his brain.
"Used a knife on her," the technician said with the same casual voice he'd used earlier. This time Bailey wanted to strangle him for it. Instead, he turned to the door and
(where's her daughter)
walked away. He was walking to his car before he caught himself wondering if this
(woman)
victim had a daughter. He shook himself. This was business. He needed to get to work.
"You're not working!"
The order was a shout, almost a bark, but Bailey didn't object. Instead, he faced the short, balding man considered his superior with icy calm.
"Sir?"
"The CIA has more important things to do than chase after some hitman! Pattern killers, we both know, the CIA is the only true prevention for. But contract killers, we'll leave those to the police."
"Wasn't the dead woman an FBI agent, therefore making it our business?"
Spalding turned, startled.
"FBI agent? What on god's green earth gave you that idea?"
"I- I think someone must have mentioned it to me
(saw her)
and I remembered it."
"Well, I've got news for you, Malone. The dead woman was a dress designer. She'd moved to Maine six years ago. She had no history with the FBI, the CIA, or any other government agency I've ever heard of. So lay off."
Bailey drives without knowing where he's going. He is only mildly surprised when he pulls up in front of the Washington Maximum Security Penitentiary. He opens the door to his car, gets out, and walks to the front desk. He does not know what he is doing, only that it feels right in a way he can't explain. He is operating on pure instinct.
He feels almost as if the desk clerk should be familiar, but it's
(Marcus)
a complete stranger. He flashed his ID badge.
"Bailey Malone to see prisoner 146."
He says the number without thinking about it, without knowing what it means. He knows nothing. The number, once uttered, becomes as alien and unfamiliar as any other.
The clerk consults a register.
"Prisoner name?"
(Jack)
"John Doe."
She motions him to follow, opens the door, and steps into the hall. Another door, this one thick and metal, opens on command and he follows her through it.
And so Bailey Malone allows himself to be led into a dungeon darker than any other. A dungeon of the mind. He shudders as he hears the bolt slide home behind him. It sounds uncannily like the thud of a guiatine blade.
AN: PLEASE REVEIW!!! IF I GET ENOUGH REVEIWS, GOOD OR CRITICAL, I MIGHT JUST ADD ANOTHER CHAPTER TOMMORROW BEFORE I GO CAMPING!
By The Shadower
Spoilers: Reunion, eventually, I think, if I have the name right. I'm not sure of any episode names because I only got interested in the show when it was cancelled with the reruns on Court TV.
Rating: PG-13 for later chapters, Violence, maybe some gore, language. Later chapters may use F-word.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. There. I said it. Now ask yourself, was that really necessary?
Feedback: If I don't get reviewed, I will either A: Never continue or post another chapter or B: Do everything you hate, kill off all the characters not already dead, ECT. Good and bad feedback appreciated, if you hate something about it, please review and let me know.
AN: This is my first Profiler fic. It's AU starting the AU at the end of the episode I think is reunion, the last episode with Sam. I know there are some things at the beginning you may not like, but please hang in there. Also, thanks to Stephen King for the thought format. I borrowed that particular formatting trick from IT, and I think it works well here. Also, I'm going camping over the weekend so I won't have a chance to update until Monday. Finally, due to creative license, part of this is in the present tense while the rest is in the past. It means, nothing, its just creative license.
Dedicated to Stephen King for the aforementioned format, and to Thomas Harris, for an inspiration obvious to anyone familiar with **The Silence of the Lambs**.
2007
Special Agent Bailey Malone of the CIA felt an odd chill as he stepped into the VCTF headquarters. It felt almost... familiar.
He shook off the feeling and walked down the hall to the computer database. He had been a CIA agent, leader of a special ops team for as long as he could remember. According to his superior, he had been recruited off a police force in Maine, where he'd been a small town patrolman. Now, in the CIA, he was hunting career criminals and pattern killers, as well as undertaking some of the less lawful assignments.
He felt another chill as he stepped into the computer database. He mentally pinched himself. He had never been here before. The computer technician turned to face him.
(Where's George?)
What was that? He didn't know anyone named George. The ID badge on the technician read SAMUEL WANDMAN. Wandman glanced up at him impatiently.
"What do you want?"
The voice was annoyed, as if Wandman couldn't imagine anything the slightly ruffled suit before him could have that was important enough to take valuable time better used playing computer games.
"I need an address," Bailey said, not letting his anger at the technician's casual manner reach his voice.
"I need the address of that woman killed out in the country. The one that might be the latest victim of White Ripper."
The technician pressed a computer key and a name and address popped up on the screen. Bailey looked at the name- and froze.
He felt the same chill of familiarity, mixed with a grief he couldn't explain. Somehow, he felt, he'd known this woman. Some thing in her name
(Blonde hair)
struck him as familiar.
"Samantha Waters."
He stared at the screen, groping desperately at a memory somewhere within his brain.
"Used a knife on her," the technician said with the same casual voice he'd used earlier. This time Bailey wanted to strangle him for it. Instead, he turned to the door and
(where's her daughter)
walked away. He was walking to his car before he caught himself wondering if this
(woman)
victim had a daughter. He shook himself. This was business. He needed to get to work.
"You're not working!"
The order was a shout, almost a bark, but Bailey didn't object. Instead, he faced the short, balding man considered his superior with icy calm.
"Sir?"
"The CIA has more important things to do than chase after some hitman! Pattern killers, we both know, the CIA is the only true prevention for. But contract killers, we'll leave those to the police."
"Wasn't the dead woman an FBI agent, therefore making it our business?"
Spalding turned, startled.
"FBI agent? What on god's green earth gave you that idea?"
"I- I think someone must have mentioned it to me
(saw her)
and I remembered it."
"Well, I've got news for you, Malone. The dead woman was a dress designer. She'd moved to Maine six years ago. She had no history with the FBI, the CIA, or any other government agency I've ever heard of. So lay off."
Bailey drives without knowing where he's going. He is only mildly surprised when he pulls up in front of the Washington Maximum Security Penitentiary. He opens the door to his car, gets out, and walks to the front desk. He does not know what he is doing, only that it feels right in a way he can't explain. He is operating on pure instinct.
He feels almost as if the desk clerk should be familiar, but it's
(Marcus)
a complete stranger. He flashed his ID badge.
"Bailey Malone to see prisoner 146."
He says the number without thinking about it, without knowing what it means. He knows nothing. The number, once uttered, becomes as alien and unfamiliar as any other.
The clerk consults a register.
"Prisoner name?"
(Jack)
"John Doe."
She motions him to follow, opens the door, and steps into the hall. Another door, this one thick and metal, opens on command and he follows her through it.
And so Bailey Malone allows himself to be led into a dungeon darker than any other. A dungeon of the mind. He shudders as he hears the bolt slide home behind him. It sounds uncannily like the thud of a guiatine blade.
AN: PLEASE REVEIW!!! IF I GET ENOUGH REVEIWS, GOOD OR CRITICAL, I MIGHT JUST ADD ANOTHER CHAPTER TOMMORROW BEFORE I GO CAMPING!